


This Is the Road You're On

by dragonspell



Category: Southland
Genre: Drug Dealing, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:19:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it happens, it’s not because John is desperate or out of money.  He’s not drunk, hooked, or jacked.  He’s not even that far off the beaten path.  It happens because the guy is attractive, obviously into him, and John’s tired of being alone.  It doesn’t get much simpler than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is the Road You're On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Entropyrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/gifts).



When it happens, it’s not because John is desperate or out of money. He’s not drunk, hooked, or jacked. He’s not even that far off the beaten path. It happens because the guy is attractive, obviously into him, and John’s tired of being alone. It doesn’t get much simpler than that.

Life spreads out in front of a man. It looks endless when you’re young, the road stretching beyond the horizon and filled with possibilities. If you’re not careful, though, that road can be gone before you know it, eaten up by time marching on without you. John’s finding that his road is getting narrower and shorter by the day.

He feels old, weary in a way he can’t yet describe. Sometimes, he thinks he catches a flicker of a dead end up ahead. Then he blinks and it’s gone, just a figment of his imagination—but it makes him think. It makes him wonder. What’s he done with his life?

Really?

It’s thoughts like those that make John consider doing something crazy, something reckless. He’s lived his life between the lines, obeying the rules of the road, never getting too out of hand. He’s buried his wants and his needs beneath miles of asphalt and kept everything on the straight and narrow and for what? For what?

He keeps glancing off at the side streets, wondering what would happen if he would only turn. Right, left, it didn’t matter. Hell, maybe he should just pull a big fucking U-turn in the middle of the road. Whip donuts, _something_. Something needs to give.

When his back had been fucked, when he’d been hooked on any number of drugs, it had been easy to ignore. He’d had an excuse. He couldn’t see beyond the dashboard of here and now. Now he's got nothing, not even Cesar, and he’s looking for the brake, a turn signal, the fucking sirens, anything. He’s tired of following the road he’s on.

He doesn’t know what he thinks he’s doing when he shows up at the old bar or why he’s not at home where the drinks are cheaper. The bar is one of the few approved side streets to his life, running parallel because here, while everyone knows of him, no one actually _knows_ him. In this place, he’s known as “the cop”—no last name and no badge number, but you can call him John if he likes you.

Nobody actually really knows anybody here. It’s all an act, a performance for the masses, and thus why it’s always been safe. There are no bumps in the road here, just guys looking to score or get lucky and John can appreciate that. He likes being another face in the crowd, likes not owing anyone in the place a damn thing.

There’s a little something for everyone in the bar. John doesn’t know them, but he knows of them or what they like. The one in the corner tossing money like it’s going out of style and having the young twinks hang on his every word is a doctor. He likes to spend money on the barely legal, pretending that he’s still young, too. Next to the doctor, his nose in a tumbler, is a grizzled vet. He likes the whips and the chains that make John want to head for the hills. Then there’s the line of the college-age boy toys, hanging around just looking for something or someone to do. They laugh and flirt with the bartender and John knows that a quick search of their pockets would turn out a dispensary. 

In the low lights, nursing a bottle, is a guy that’s been making eyes at John all night. He’s hoping that John will buy him a beer to replace his old one, then maybe slip him a hundred or so for a quick fuck in the alley or John’s car. John’s not interested. He twirls his Corona on the bar and then drains it. 

The bathroom’s the same cramped space that he’s been frequenting for years. It’s deliberate in its smallness, having the dual perks of not wasting valuable floor area and forcing wasted, horny customers to brush up against each other. This is the first time that John’s visited it without the intent to buy. There’s a familiar itch, just under his skin, one that makes his fingers want to dance. Phantom sensations crawl along his nerves; his body remembers the high even as his brain lectures about the low. John reminds himself that he’s not here for that, not anymore, and steps up to the sink. He splashes his face, wanting the memories to disappear down the drain with the water.

“Been a long time,” a voice says behind him and John forces himself to stay calm. His instincts scream for him to move; his street smarts tell him that would be a bad idea. _No quick or sudden movements._ He slowly straightens and glances at the mirror. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. Heard you got clean.”

The guy is still as tall as a building, slouching in that familiar way of his, trying to look non-threatening even as he dwarfs the room. There’s a presence about him, a look of a man that knows his way around the dark alleys and back rooms. John thinks that he could take him down but he doubts that it would be easy. “I’m not here for that,” John says. He knows this dance.

The man shrugs. In all the times that John’s met him, he’s never bothered to learn the guy’s name. John wonders if he should have asked him sometime. “Good for you.” He smiles, straightening up from his slouch. “Too bad for me.”

Something races through John’s body, kicking his heart into overdrive. Yes, John knows this dance real well. John closes his eyes, just for a split second, steeling himself because there’s reckless and then there’s plain old _stupid_. The dealer smiles, slow and sure, his head tilting to the side. “Or maybe not.” He steps closer and John doesn’t say a word.

John’s too old for this shit. He knows better, can see the possible consequences sprawling out in front of him like a roadmap to his life. There’s the main drag that he should take, the one that keeps him on the straight and narrow, heading towards old age. It’s boring, safe, lonely as hell, and likely to end with a gun in his mouth. John grabs the man in front of him and makes a sharp left turn.

* * *

John’s back slams against the wall and strong hands pin him there but he’s too busy grinding against the leg that’s between his thighs to give a shit. His mouth is busy and so are his hands, reveling in masculinity. He loves the feel of hard muscle under his fingers, loves the smooth lines and the coarse patches of hair.

“Fuck, yeah,” the man growls, breaking away from the kiss to bite at John’s jaw. He half pushes and John half drags and together they make it to the bedroom. This isn’t the first time that this particular dealer has been at John’s house. It is, however, the first time he’s been allowed this far in.

John’s shirt drops to the floor, stripped off of him by greedy hands that slide down his back and grip his ass. The man tries to shove John down onto the bed but John pulls him in for another kiss before he lets it happen. John still doesn’t know the guy’s name and doesn’t care. He’s a drug dealer and John’s a cop. They’re harboring no illusions. This isn’t going anywhere beyond tonight but by God is John going to enjoy it.

The man yanks at John’s belt, pulling the buckle free with rough jerks on the leather and John returns the favor. He loosens the man’s belt and unzips his jeans, delving his hand between the parted zipper with a sharp intake of breath. The man’s cock is stiffening in John’s hand, tenting the thin boxers covering it, and it’s the best goddamned thing John’s felt in awhile. “Jesus,” the man mutters, his hips stuttering. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it in the corner. His own hands cup John’s head, fingers running through John’s hair, and John gives in to the gentle urging. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the man’s belly. His eyes flick upward as his tongue licks skin, catching the way the man’s head tosses back. The accompanying groan makes John shiver. 

John pushes down the guy’s underwear, hungry to hear more, wanting to swallow down cock until he chokes on it. He wraps his hand around the base and nearly gets his mouth around the entire thing. It’s still half-hard and John gives a hard suck, his eyes fluttering closed. He fucking loves this and, at the moment, he doesn’t care who knows. His tongue curls up and around the shaft and the guy’s starting to babble above John. “Christ, you’re good at that… Jesus, man, you and that fucking tongue… Knew you wanted it…” More words drop on John’s ears and he stops paying attention to the meaning and just listens for the groans and growls that make him throb. That’s all that’s important.

He bobs his head, getting a rhythm going and loses himself in it, high on the buzz of arousal humming through him. He sucks harder and kneads his own dick through his underwear. There’s no doubt that he could get both of them off like this and he’d be happy about it, too.

John likes having a cock in his mouth, always has. It was one of the things that had finally clued him in to the fact that his sexuality wasn’t ever going to straighten out. He hadn’t been cheating on Laurie, but he’d been thinking about it and hating himself. He’d never hated this, though.

Pain, sharp and stinging, cuts him off, pulls him away and he’s yanked backwards. John growls, his arms raising to break the hold before he remembers where he is and diverts the move into a caress instead, his hands sliding over hot skin, griping tight enough to bruise. The guy crawls over him like a jungle cat, dark and predatory as he straddles John, and John’s blood sings. He wiggles out of his jeans, kicking them to the end of the bed and shoves his underwear down. His cock slaps against his stomach before it’s grabbed by a tight hand, thumb teasing at the head. Small, nipping kisses work their way up John’s chest as hips align with his. John thrusts upward, grinding against the grip and the hard body above him. “What do you want?” he’s asked, a breathy whisper in his ear. “What do you want, what do you want…” John claims another kiss and fumbles for the nightstand drawer.

Sometimes he wants it and sometimes he doesn’t. Tonight, John’s feeling the former.

He slaps the tube into the man’s hand and looks up at him, confident and sure. The man stares at it for a moment and then looks back at John. “Yeah?” he asks. He wraps his arms around John, pressing them close together and slots his hips between John’s thighs. “Yeah?” John bites his lip at the smooth roll of the man’s hips, at the feeling of a hard cock brushing up against him. It’s so close to what he wants. “You gonna let me do that?” the man whispers and John’s bucking up against him. “You gonna let me fuck you?”

“Not if you’re going to take all night about it,” John growls and pops the tube open himself. It’s a practiced, easy snap for him, and he coats his fingers with slick. He’s done with the foreplay shit. Now he just wants to get off.

“Hey, whoa—” John ignores the protests and shoves his hand between his legs. His breath catches as his fingers first push in, two at once because John’s tired of going slow and if he takes too long, he might rethink this ride. “That is so fucking hot…”

John pulls his fingers free and wipes them on his thigh. “Shut up and fuck me,” he says and tosses a condom at the guy’s face. The man grins and mock salutes, all playful attitude because he knows that John isn’t going to kick him out of bed anytime soon. John closes his eyes, his fingers digging into the pillow.

He raises his hips, arching off the bed, and keeps his breathing deep and steady. He loves the first push in, the feeling of being filled, of having something thick and hard sliding into him. That was another thing he’d had to come to terms with, fending off all the stereotypes and prejudices that had preyed on his insecurities. It took him awhile to accept that wanting a cock inside of him was nothing to be ashamed of.

The man settles in deep, giving little pulsing thrusts that make John groan. He doesn’t even have to touch John’s prostate: the feeling of dick sliding in and out of his ass is almost enough by itself. “Like that?” 

John wraps his arms around the hard body on top of him. “Fuck, yeah,” he answers. “Yeah, fuck…” Then he buries his face against the guy’s neck because he’s done talking: he’s run out of words.

Each thrust has John rocking with it in tandem, always wanting more. John wants it hard and fast, slow and sweet, now and lasting forever, however he can get it. He rolls his hips, grinding his cock against hot, slick skin.

It’s the feeling of having sweat-soaked hips working between his legs, of being used, of being out of control that sets John off. For once he doesn’t have to have restraint, doesn’t have to manage anything but his own orgasm, and it feels good to let go. Everything else will take care of itself.

He grunts as he comes, his hips jerking upward one last time as his balls tighten and then he’s coming, hot pulses of jizz splattering across his chest, smearing over his skin and that of the guy above him.

The guy’s growling and panting in John’s ear, meaningless words being wrenched out of his mouth, all strung together like the hum of an engine, until they stutter, sputter and die. “Shit, shit, shit,” the man whispers pushing off of John and pulling out, one hand flying down to hold the condom on. John groans as the dick slides out of him completely and then flickers his eyes open. He wants to see the guy’s face as he comes.

For all his talking, he’s silent as he orgasms, his mouth open in an O. He’s leaning back as his hips thrust upward against his hand and the milky-white latex. There’s sweat matting his hair to his head, trickling down his neck, and John wants to catch a drop of it, see what it tastes like. 

When the man finishes, he sucks in air like he's been underwater, then rests back on his heels and exhales. He looks like he’s been out for a run and John likes what he sees. The man’s skinnier than John normally likes but he’s tall and that’s good enough. John smiles lazily. He needs a shower or at least a towel but damned if he feels like moving right now.

“Oh, fuck,” the man says on another exhale and strips off the condom, knotting it at the end.

“Yeah?” John asks.

“Fuck yeah.” The man tosses the condom at the trash and scrubs a hand through his damp hair before flopping down beside John on the bed. “Christ.”

For the moment, John stays there, enjoying the feel of having another man lying next to him, wanting nothing and needing nothing. Right now, he doesn’t give a shit about the world or what it wants or who the man beside him really is. There might be a time when he will, but it’s not coming anytime soon.

It’s as dangerous as the pills. John doesn’t care. He’s barreling 120 down the road and all he knows, all he cares about, is that it’s not the same street he’s been on.


End file.
